第40部分(第2/7 頁)

agine　how　each　of

them　grew　frightened　and　succumbed　to　suspicions　as　I　myself　had。　Because

one　of　their　lot　was　cornered；　in　the　middle　of　the　night；　by　Elegant　Effendi—

who　had　incited　him　against　you；　us；　our　book；　as　well　as　against　illustrating；

painting and all else we believe in—that artist fell into a panic； killing that

scoundrel　and　tossing　his　body　into　a　well。”

“Scoundrel？”

“Elegant　Effendi　was　an　ill…natured；　ill…bred　traitor。　Villain！”　I　shouted　as　if

he　were　before　me　in　the　room。

Silence。　Did　he　fear　me？　I　was　afraid　of　myself。　It　was　as　if　I’d　succumbed　to

somebody　else’s　will　and　thoughts；　yet；　this　was　not　wholly　unpleasant。

“Who　was　this　miniaturist　who　fell　into　a　panic　like　you　and　the　illustrator

from　Isfahan？　Who　killed　him？”

“I　don’t　know；”　I　said。

179

Yet　I　wanted　him　to　infer　from　my　expression　that　I　was　lying。　I　realized　that

I’d made a grave error in ing here； but I wasn’t going to succumb to

feelings of guilt and regret。 I could see that Enishte Effendi was growing

suspicious of me and this pleased and fortified me。 If he became convinced

that　I　was　a　murderer　and　this　knowledge　struck　terror　throughout　his　soul；

then　he　wouldn’t　dare　refuse　to　show　me　the　final　painting。　I　was　so　curious

about that picture； not because of any sin I’d mitted on its account—I

genuinely　wanted　to　see　how　it’d　turned　out。

“Is　it　important　who　killed　that　miscreant？”　I　said。　“Is　it　not　possible　that

whoever　rid　us　of　him　has　done　a　good　deed？”

I　was　encouraged　when　I　saw　he　could　no　longer　look　me　directly　in　the　eye。

M